I'll rest for just a minute and then go.'
Resting, her old tired heart began to glow,
Glowed and gave thanks, and thought itself in clover,
'He's lost his job, so now she'll throw him over.'
Sitting, she saw the rustling thistle-kex,
The picks flash bright above, the trollies tip.
The bridge-stone shining, full of silver specks,
And three swift children running down the dip.
A Stoke Saint Michael carter cracked his whip,
The water in the runway made its din.